


client

by Athina_Blaine



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athina_Blaine/pseuds/Athina_Blaine
Summary: Jon takes the statement of Mr. Blackwood, concerning his midnight wanderings
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 17
Kudos: 139





	client

“I’m sorry if I’m wasting your time.”

“Rest assured, Mr. Blackwood, this is a part of my job.”

“Oh, uh, Martin is fine.”

Mr. Blackwood – Martin – rubbed the back of his neck. Nervous energy oozed from every pore, but Jon couldn’t determine if that was due to his statement or if that was just his usual disposition.

“I’ve always been curious about this place,” said Martin. “Even thought about applying once. I hear about it on podcasts all the time. You really take statements from anyone who comes in?”

“That’s correct.”

“What do you do when they’re taking the piss?”

“The Magnus Institute will accept statements from any source and perform a follow up to the best of its ability.”

“Okay, but, like, what if they’re _obviously_ taking the piss?”

Jon brought a hand to his chin. “We’ve only ever had to escort out one person before, if that’s what you mean, and one could easily make the deduction that he was under the influence at the time.”

“Oh, wow.” Martin looked down at his hands. “Do you ever believe them?”

“What?”

Martin’s face reddened. He swallowed.

“I mean, do you ever think, ‘hey, this chap might be on to something’? Or have they, you know, all just been pretty much crazy?”

Jon sighed. He knew what the man wanted him to say, but to say it would infringe Jon’s professional standards. “Frankly, believing or disbelieving the statement giver isn’t my job. I’m just here to collect and compile the information.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t think they were _all_ crazy, though.” Jon slid the tape recorder forward. “And I will listen to what you have to say.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Statement of Martin Blackwood regarding his midnight wanderings. Statement taken directly from subject August 14th, 2016. Statement begins.”

Martin took a slow, deep breath.

“It _is_ crazy, though, you know? That’s why I came here. There really wasn’t anywhere else for me to go. I’m sorry again—”

“You don’t need to apologize, Martin. Just start from the beginning.”

“Right. So, I guess it started when my mum moved out. This was, um, about two weeks ago, I think. She went to this care home in Devon. She’s been wanting to go there for ages.” He smiled, but it was off. “Weird, isn’t it? Like, who _wants_ to go to a care home?”

He trailed off, staring at his hands. His eyes were faraway.

Jon cleared his throat. Martin blinked.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No, no, that’s fine. I just—” He sucked in a quick breath. “So, yeah, Mum left, and it’s the first time I’ve ever been all on my own. I think I should have felt happy. I mean, _every_ kid is happy when they get their own place, and it’s not like my mum was the easiest person to live with. But, I don’t know. I just hated it. The flat seemed too quiet.”

Martin squirmed, crossing his arms. “Um, sorry, yeah, I think I’ll take that water, actually.”

Jon stood, making a quick trip to the breakroom. Martin accepted the porcelain mug but didn’t drink it as Jon sat back down. He just cradled it with two hands, staring into the clear water.

“So, yeah, it was all feeling like a bit much, then. I had a bad dream that night, I don’t really remember it, and after that I tried just staying out of the flat as much as possible. I didn't have anywhere to go, so I just wandered around town. It could have started then. I wasn’t paying attention to anything during those walks.”

“What did you see?”

“Nothing, at first. I’d just be walking around and lost in thought. Then, I’d look up and I was in an area I didn’t recognize and hours have gone by. I just thought I’d been more spacey than usual, but then, I’d keep losing more and more hours until suddenly the entire day was disappearing, and I barely remembered any of it. One day I had walked clear across London and it was 3 in the morning. I hadn’t eaten at all during that time and almost passed out. I tried to stop going out after that.”

“Tried?”

“Yeah. But the flat was still so … I just couldn’t stay there. I tried setting an alarm on my phone and maybe it would snap me out of it and I’d turn back home once it went off. That night, it was about 4 at that point, I couldn’t find it in my pockets, and I got a call the next day on my landline from someone who said they found my phone in the trash.”

Martin took a large gulp of water. His voice was wobbling. “I really started freaking out after that. I thought I was being possessed or something. I stayed at a motel to see if that changed anything, even barricaded myself in, but I found myself somewhere by a river in Erith at 5 AM. It was freezing. It had been almost 24 hours at that point. I was exhausted, and I didn’t have anyone I could ask for help.”

“You can take a break if you need one.”

Martin jerked up. His fingers were white from his grip on the mug. He set it down on Jon’s desk.

“No, that’s okay,” he said. “I just want to get this over with.”

“Take all the time you need.”

“I finally … _saw_ it, about a week ago. I think I was walking on the Albert Bridge at that point and I was looking at the ground, and there were these strange shapes. I didn’t really react at first, but I lifted my head, and everything looked so _weird_. Like, you know when you’re staring at an optical illusion and it makes your eyes hurt? And it all smelled so stale and old and everyone was gone. I was alone. And there was this voice.”

“A voice?”

Martin nodded. His hands were shaking. “I think I'd been hearing it the entire time. Seeing … _that place_ the entire time. It must have been where my head was going.”

“Can you tell me what the voice said?”

"I don't ..." Martin swallowed, but it was strangled, as if something sharp were pressing on his throat. “It was talking about how happy my mum was now that I was out of her life. That no one would miss me if I jumped off the bridge.”

He clapped a hand over his mouth, horrified. He blinked and a tear slid down his cheek.

Jon waited. Martin rubbed his face. Jon held out the mug, still half filled with water, and Martin took it back, finishing it off in one gulp.

“Thank you,” Martin said, softly, wiping his mouth.

“What happened after that?”

“I don’t really know. I think someone yelled at me for getting too close to the bridge, and I kind of just woke up. And it hasn’t happened again after that.”

Jon pulled the tape recorder closer to himself. His pulse was drumming in his throat. “And this happened last Tuesday, correct?”

“Um, yeah. How did you—?”

“Just a guess. And you haven’t had a problem with this since?”

“No. I don’t think so, anyway.” Martin coughed. “So, yeah. That’s everything.” He chuckled, nervously. “Crazy, right?”

“Hmm.”

Jon tapped the surface of his desk, eyebrows drawn together. He took a deep breath.

“We’ll look into what we can, but I must admit, based on the isolated nature of your incident, I doubt we’ll be able to uncover anything particularly illuminating.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay.” Martin scrubbed his face. “Honestly, I’m just glad you haven’t laughed me out of the building yet. ‘Oh, a kid hallucinates some spooky nonsense and fancies he might have had a paranormal encounter.’ Like, it’s ridiculous, right?”

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous.”

Martin stared at him. Clearing his throat, he stood. “Well, thank you. I won’t bother you anymore—”

“Wait.” Jon grabbed a paper and pen from his desk, quickly scribbling a number. He stood and held it out. “Please, let me know if anything like this happens again.”

“Oh, okay.” Martin took the paper and stared at it. “Is this … is this your cellphone number?”

“I don’t see how that makes a difference.”

“This can’t be in your job description.”

“To be perfectly honest, the exact wording as outlined in my contract is incredibly and unhelpfully vague.”

Jon clicked off the tape recorder.

“Statement ends.”

Jon let out a slow breath, closing his eyes, before bringing the tape recorder closer.

“Much as I suspected, this case is a dead end. Security footage showed that Mr. Blackwood was, indeed, wandering around London for hours with little to no awareness of his surroundings. This went on for nearly five days. One clip showed him tossing his phone in a skip and another of a kid running right into him, almost knocking him over. He hadn’t reacted.

“Sasha confirmed that he booked a reservation for one night at the Central Inn motel on August 9th, 2016. Apparently, the manager gave her quite an earful since her ‘friend’ had given the custodian a bad fright with his quote unquote _sleepwalking_ and had left the room a mess.

"That’s pretty much all we can do for him."

Jon brought a hand to his face, massaging his head.

“I can’t believe I hadn’t even recognized him.”

The tape rolled in it's casing. It seemed louder than usual.

“I wouldn’t have even noticed him if we hadn't nearly run into each other. He was just standing in the middle of the pavement, staring at nothing. I asked him what his problem was, but he hadn't said anything. Then he started walking towards the edge of the bridge, and suddenly I was stricken with absolute terror. I don’t know why. It was something about the way he was walking. Shambling. As if nothing was going to get in his way.

“So, I shouted at him. He blinked and looked over at me, and I could tell he actually saw me that time. I wanted to say something, maybe yell at him some more for pulling a stunt like that, but I was running late for work and his eyes ... I couldn’t stand to be there.

“What a cowardly thing to do. What would have happened if I hadn’t …?”

Jon dropped his hand, leaning back in his chair and breathing.

“Well. No use wondering about ‘what-ifs’. He texted me the other day, let me know he was still safe, which I can be honest and admit that that does provide me with some measure of relief. He’s thinking of moving flats, which I agreed with, although finding somewhere cheap this time of year will certainly prove a challenge. I don’t envy him, anyway. I think Sasha mentioned something of one of her neighbors moving out, though. I’ll have to ask.”

A buzz in his pocket pulled him from his musings. Another text. It was a picture of someone holding a large bottle of Smirnoff in a grocery store.

_> on my way to make a statement!_

Jon rolled his eyes, punching in his response.

_> You do realize I had to clean up the mess he made myself? I’m certain he’d had chicken for dinner that night._

_> oh im sorry, didn’t mean to pick at an old trauma :p_

_> Any relapses? _

_> im okay_

Jon stared at the conversation, tweaking the edge of his phone. He turned back to the tape recorder. 

“I shouldn’t be so preoccupied with a statement giver’s welfare, but, well, I suppose it’s not surprising, considering my involvement. I don’t think I’ll mention anything, at least not right now. I don’t see what good it would do. I’ll keep a close eye on him in the meantime.”

Another buzz.

_> thank you, by the way. for checking up on me all the time. i know im just some random guy from the street_

_> It’s no trouble_

_> it is, though. i want to make it up to you somehow_

Jon _shouldn’t_ be so preoccupied with a statement giver’s welfare. It wasn't professional.

He found himself typing back, regardless.

_> What did you have in mind?_

_> oh. well, i dont know, actually. i didnt think youd take me up on it. do you like coffee?_

Jon smiled.

“Recording ends.”


End file.
